


Take me to the edge so I can fall apart

by linaerys



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Pain Kink, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny's weird about his bruises, and Patrick wonders why. Feelings and sex ensue. Set at the end of the 2012-13 season and beyond. (See the end notes for detailed warnings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me to the edge so I can fall apart

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [mdevile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mdevile/pseuds/mdevile) for beta-ing, brainstorming, and of course, [her amazing art.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/926565) [Here is a preview.](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/linaerys/967569/1172/1172_1000.jpg) Go tell her it's great!

If there’s anything worse than watching Jonny come apart at the seams, Patrick’s not sure what it is. Jonny’s sitting in front of the crappy locker they gave him in Detroit, staring at the ground. Patrick knows that if he weren’t the captain, he would put his head down in his hands, and maybe cry. That’s what Patrick wants to do and he isn’t the one that fucking Zetterberg has been hounding all over the ice.

Patrick knows, from long, painful experience, though, that Jonny doesn’t want anyone to talk to him right now. Anyone who does is likely to get his head bitten off. Or worse, for Jonny to come slowly back from whatever faraway planet of pain he’s decided to live on and say, “What” in that dead, toneless voice. You interrupt Jonny’s misery at your peril.

Patrick exchanges a glance with Seabs, who actually went over to Jonny when he was in the penalty box, and tried to work some kind of D-man magic on him. It might have helped, but it didn’t exactly pull Jonny out of whatever hole he’s in now.

The press start to clear the room, and, if possible, the mood falls more. Everyone was trying to project that lost-but-not-beaten, hopeful vibe until they left.

Patrick was off the hook today, but he would rather have taken it if it meant he didn’t have to listen to Jonny give his interview, all, “We’ll be better next game, I know we can, I know we have it in us.”

Patrick concentrates on packing up his bag. At least they’re back to Chicago tomorrow.

On the bus back to the hotel, Patrick sits down next to Jonny and knocks his shoulder into him. “Want me to come over?”

Jonny’s got his head tipped back now, his eyes closed. He swallows, his throat moving. “Yeah,” he says tightly.

Patrick stops trying to stare through Jonny’s skin and settles back against the headrest. Patrick’s not in Jonny’s scoring drought, but he’s not swimming in goals either.

As soon as they get into Jonny’s room, Jonny drops to his knees and starts pulling at Patrick’s belt. Losing sometimes makes a guy horny, but not usually Jonny. Patrick gets it tonight—Jonny wants to forget, and Patrick’s not against getting some head, although his dick is taking its sweet time coming to life.

Jonny’s need, though, wherever it comes from, is pretty hot. He presses against Patrick’s boxers with his hand and then mouths at his dick through the fabric, which does the trick, at least as much because of how Jonny looks when he does it, all raw and desperate as how it feels with Jonny’s hot breath on him.

Jonny shoves down his boxers as soon as Patrick’s dick starts rising, and licks impatiently it until Patrick’s fully hard, then he shoves Patrick back against the wall and starts sucking on him with none of his usual finesse. It feels good and Patrick’s definitely going to come at some point—and hey, whatever Jonny needs, especially if it involves Patrick getting off—but this is weird, even for whatever is going on with Jonny during this post-season. Maybe he’s trying to get in as much hooking up as they can before the summer starts, which is looking to be pretty soon unless they can figure out how to shut down Detroit.

Oh fuck, Patrick’s actually flagging a little thinking about that, and about how he can barely stay on his feet. Jonny notices too, and pulls back to glare at Patrick.

“Come on,” Jonny says, like he’s barking instructions on the ice. “Fuck my mouth or something. You know you want to.”

If this were any other time, he totally would. They’ve done that before, desperate and horny after a win, or a night out when Jonny just looked so good in rolled up shirt-sleeves, skin tan against the fabric. Patrick’s on high alert, though, or as much as he can be with his dick in someone’s mouth, because Jonny’s been so-- _him_ lately, to the point where he doesn’t even let Patrick touch him afterward, and it looks like it’s going to be more of the same tonight. There’s almost nothing that doesn’t work for Patrick where Jonny’s concerned, but self-hating blowjobs are kind of boner-killing.

“What,” says Jonny, and it’s not a question, it’s like he’s scolding Patrick’s dick, and its lack of interest at this moment. They’ve been through this enough that Patrick’s not gonna let Jonny make it about his boner or lack thereof.

“Does this actually help?” Patrick asks. “I mean do you feel better about this bullshit? Why don’t I suck you off instead?”

Jonny sits back on his heels, looking somewhere in the direction of Patrick’s knees, not quite hanging his head, but it’s close. “I don’t deserve it,” he says.

“Seriously?” says Patrick. “You’re not the only guy on the team—and blowjobs aren’t about deserving it—and I thought you stopped this whole...never mind. I’m going to make you get off and enjoy it and you can shut the fuck up until that’s done.”

And then he does, moving Jonny to the bed, doing it kind of rough like Jonny seems to want. He digs his fingers into Jonny’s hips and sucks him as hard as he can, until Jonny comes in his mouth, doing that moaning and sighing thing that always turns Patrick on like crazy. Patrick lets him return the favor without trying to get Patrick to, like, punish him or anything. Maybe he should have just done what Jonny wanted but—well, it made him feel really weird. Like, he doesn’t want Jonny using his dick like that. His dick is supposed to be fun.

“My party pogo stick,” he mumbles against Jonny’s chest where they’ve wound up, curled together.

“What?” says Jonny, sleepily. Shit, did Patrick say that out loud? At least Jonny sounds more relaxed now.

“Can I stay?” Patrick asks. It’s sort of nice having separate rooms, but he misses when it was pretty much assured that he would sleep next to Jonny.

“Sure,” says Jonny, settling them together in whatever configuration he thinks is going to work with them touching enough, but not too much. It doesn’t really matter. Jonny’s going to end up throwing all the covers off, and then accuse Patrick of stealing them in the middle of the night when he has to take them back.

It’s predictable and perfect, just like the two of them now, after everything, after the near break-up of the previous summer, and after Jonny’s increasing desperation about the lockout. Everything’s great. Except Jonny’s self-hating blowjobs. Patrick could really live without those. But this, sex with Jonny, falling asleep next to Jonny, that’s pretty perfect. Patrick’s glad they’ve gotten it figured out, and they’re in the playoffs again, and everything is hockey and them with nothing else to interfere. He sends up a prayer as he’s falling asleep that the next game won’t be the last of this season.

*

The mood in the locker room after the home win that brings them to 3-2 is cautiously optimistic. Jonny keeps smiling, then seeming to remember how much work they still have to do, and tamping it down again. Patrick’s whooping it up with Sharpy and Shawsy while Jonny does the more subdued thing, exchanging low but excited words with Saader, then going to sit with Crow for a little while, give him a little goalie-loving. He deserves it.

It’s after all the congratulations and pep talks and speeches are done that Patrick looks back at Jonny and sees him running his fingers over the bruise, red, going to purple, on his side that Zetterberg gave him, his mouth slightly open, then probing it deeper. Patrick’s seen this before. Maybe. Jonny’s always been really into knowing the exact contours of his bruises. He had one on his back once that he asked Patrick to trace the outlines of, which Patrick did, feeling like he was seeing a part of Jonny he didn’t know. That was early on in their—whatever this is—and Jonny never asked him to do it again.

Jonny turns and looks at another bruise that covers the top of his hip, a new bruise, mottled purple and red, and traces the outline with his fingers. He’s still wearing that expression, slightly pained, mouth open. Maybe to anyone else it looks like Jonny’s just trying to figure out how bad this one is, but Patrick recognizes that face, and it’s not pain, at least not entirely. It’s the look Jonny gets from a really hard workout, or really intense sex, a sort of concentration that’s just on the edge of something else.

“Hey, you want some freeze shit for that?” Shawsy yells. Jonny visibly pulls himself out of where ever he was so he can catch the flying bottle of Biofreeze that Shawsy beans at him. Then he rubs some of the bluish gel over the bruise, looking, well, as normal as he’s capable of.

“Hey, remember to wash your hands before you touch your dick,” Shawsy yells. “I forgot to do that once, and it was the weirdest my dick’s ever felt.” Everyone is silent for a long moment, until someone laughs.

“Weirder than when your mom was riding me?” says Bollig, and then he and Shawsy are scuffling. No need to get in the middle of that. Patrick turns back to Jonathan. He’s all business now, packing things away, pulling on his suit. Patrick’s not sure what he saw before, except a face that Jonny doesn’t usually show in the locker room, and something to connect it to.

*

Jonny’s happy leaving the United Center, with that weird Jonny-smile pulling the edges of his mouth taut. It's good. Patrick knows what the team is thinking: no matter what happens now, at least they won't go out in total disgrace. But that’s never been enough for Jonny and it’s not enough for Patrick either.

It’s sweaty to be wearing a suit even in the cool of the parking garage. Jonny gives Patrick that stretched smile again. “Come over,” he says, not making it a question.

They watch some coverage of the Eastern Division, Patrick’s head on Jonny’s lap. His thighs are too hard to make a great pillow, but he’s stroking Patrick’s hair, which makes up for it.

“You make the craziest faces,” says Patrick when a clip of Jonny flashes on the screen. It seems totally normal when they’re playing, but captured by the TV, Jonny looks like some kind of enraged muppet. Patrick tells him that. 

“At least I don’t have a dead ferret on my head.” He tangles his tangles his fingers in Patrick’s mullet and yanks a little. Patrick likes it.

“You love it,” Patrick says.

Although it reminds him of what he saw Jonny doing in the locker room tonight. He turns his head toward Jonny’s hip, the one that was bruised, and pulls up his shirt to see the damage. It’s a pretty one, as these things go, big and impressive, the kind of thing that Patrick usually avoid touching if he could, although hands go where they go when they’re fucking, and hips are pretty hard to avoid.

“What are you doing?” Jonny asks carefully.

Patrick traces the outline, just like Jonny was doing earlier. The muscle underneath twitches against Patrick’s fingers. “Just seeing,” he says.

He half expects Jonny to say something assholish, Jonny-like, “look with your eyes”. Instead, he tenses up, and presses his back harder against the couch, as though he’s trying to stay as still as possible.

“Does that tickle?” Patrick asks.

“No,” says Jonny, as if he’s trying to decide.

“Does it hurt?” Patrick asks. He still has his fingers on it, too light to hurt, unless it’s a lot worse than it looks.

“No,” says Jonny, in the same careful way.

Patrick looks up at Jonny, but all he can see is his chin. He very gingerly kisses the side of the bruise, then sucks a little at the margin. Jonny’s breath hitches. Patrick goes very slowly. Jonny’s always weird about the things he likes, but this isn’t totally new. Jonny gets some kind of possessive enjoyment out of Patrick’s scrapes and bruises, and he really liked it when Patrick had the stitches on his lip.

Or maybe liked is the wrong word. He kept staring at Patrick’s mouth, even more than usual. He’d kiss Patrick, or rub his dick across Patrick’s lips and ask, “Does that hurt?” Then try something else and ask “Does that hurt?”

Patrick usually said, “Yeah, but I like it anyway,” which was true. He’s a hockey player, he doesn’t mind a little bit of pain, and it was pretty typically Jonny that he’d be into making Patrick hurt a little. 

But maybe it was his passive aggressive of asking for Patrick to do the same to him without actually _asking_. It was just—not how they usually worked.

Now Jonny’s practically vibrating under Patrick’s licks and light little bites, and Patrick wonders if it’s actually good, or some other weird Jonny thing that Patrick can’t get his head around.

“You like that?” Patrick asks. If you don’t ask, you don’t find out, right?

Jonny answers by manhandling Patrick into his lap and kissing him hard. So that’s a yes. Jonny pulls off Patrick’s shirt.

“How come you don’t have any bruises?” Jonny asks as he moves down to Patrick’s neck. Jonny’s beard feels better than it looks—well, it’s almost impossible for it to feel worse—soft and tickly.

“Hey, I was nominated for the Lady Byng,” says Patrick. He pauses for emphasis. “I am a gentleman.” 

Jonny snorts, as Patrick intended him to, and then Jonny finds an extra sensitive spot on his neck. Patrick tightens his knees around Jonny’s waist and Jonny draws in a sharp breath.

“Umm, sorry?” says Patrick. 

Jonny takes a couple deep breaths. “Just…don’t,” he says. 

Patrick pulls back to look at him. He could have sworn Jonny was into it. Like, way into it. But Jonny’s tone reminds Patrick that he’s been trying to be careful since last summer, since going to Switzerland. He doesn’t want to rock the boat, this far into the post season, when everything feels really fragile.

“Okay,” says Patrick, kissing Jonny on the inside of his knee, in a spot where the tape rubs all the hair off and Jonny’s skin is really sensitive. He’s working for relaxed sighs instead of turned-on hitches of breath. Jonny takes control like he usually does, grabbing his hair. Patrick knows the mullet looks like shit, but it’s almost worth keeping for the way Jonny likes to get his hands on it.

“I want to fuck you,” says Jonny, making sure Patrick’s looking right at him. “Right here.” That’s so hot that Patrick’s mouth goes dry.

“Um, wow. Sure,” says Patrick. They haven’t during the playoffs, mostly because they’ve been too tired. But it’s like anything physical--if you stay in shape for it, it’s not too difficult. “Gotta keep in practice, right?” he says with a grin.

Jonny rolls his eyes and pushes Patrick off him to go find condoms and lube and probably a towel to sit on. Jonny likes to keep his furniture clean.

Patrick mutes the TV so Jonny doesn’t get distracted and start yelling at how wrong the announcers are while they’re fucking, which is hilarious, and weirdly hot, but not good for operation chill-Jonny-out. Their highlights keep playing, though. So yeah, he wants to get fucked while watching him and Jonny be awesome on the ice. There’s nothing wrong with that.

Jonny goes to get condoms and lube, and when he sees the TV’s still on, he snorts, but doesn’t say anything. He pulls Patrick back onto his lap.

They’ve tried and they can’t really do it face to face, with Patrick sitting on Jonny’s lap, he’s just not that flexible, but it’s hotter in a way when he’s just sitting down on Jonny’s dick, and Jonny’s stroking him. It feels sort of like it’s more in his control like this, but also kind of not, and if it’s a turn on for Patrick that it’s basically reverse cowgirl, no one has to know.

“You could smack my ass,” says Patrick, half as a joke. He can practically hear Jonny rolling his eyes.

Then Jonny fucks up into him harder and he’s not thinking much, or watching himself on TV even. He slides up and down on Jonny’s dick, letting it stretch him out. Jonny wraps his hand loosely around Patrick’s dick, teasingly, to get Patrick to moan for more.

Patrick loves it when they’re like this, when he’s got all of Jonny’s attention. Jonny’s sucking hard kisses onto his shoulders, not enough to mark, but enough to tell Patrick that Jonny’s got him. He comes in the middle of a commercial about paper towels—kind of appropriate—and then Jonny holds Patrick’s hips where he wants them and fucks into him until he comes and Patrick feels boneless.

*

The next two games are amazing and terrifying and exciting. When he and Jonny finally get some time alone, Patrick is buzzing with a combination of adrenaline and nerves and exhaustion, held together with will power. It makes even hurried hand jobs in Jonny’s hotel room incredibly intense. Afterward, he can’t tell if he wants to sleep for a million years or run around the block a hundred times. Jonny knows, though, and tucks Patrick firmly against his side until his aggressive sleepiness starts to seep into Patrick as well.

*

Patrick’s vibrating on the bench during game 5 of the finals. He still can’t believe they’re here. Well, except he can, because his team is amazing. They came back from so far, the entire team fighting together for every inch to get to this moment. Shawsy seems determined to win at any cost, playing like a guy with fifty more pounds on him and seven more inches, Crow’s making saves he probably never thought he could, Bicks is everywhere taking shots and blocking them and hitting like he never wants one shove to go unanswered. It’s inspiring. They’re inspiring. Patrick fucking loves these guys.

Chara is a little more subtle about targeting Jonny than Zetterberg was, but it’s still there. Jonny’s holds himself together better too, until Boychuck’s monster hit. Afterward, he barely passes the concussion test, and Patrick knows it’s only because Jonny has the answers memorized.

“I can play,” Jonny’s saying to Q. “Want to go out there again, I’m good,” It’s low, and monotone, but to Patrick it sounds like a scream. Like Jonny’s sure that if he can somehow find a way to leave his whole self out there, empty his veins, sacrifice his future, anything, then they’ll win. And if not, at least it won’t be because he didn’t take every ounce of punishment waiting out there for him. Q shakes his head, a couple times and finally tells Jonny to leave it be.

Patrick’s grateful for every minute he spends on the ice in the third, because it’s something he can do for Jonny, when he can’t play.

“Come on man, we got this one,” says Seabs, right before he heads back out. Patrick can see Jonny wants to be calmed by it, but he’s not.

After the game, after the interviews, Jonny goes quiet. He doesn’t want Patrick to come over. He spends some time closeted with the doctors and then some of the coaches. He goes home alone, and doesn’t answer any of Patrick’s texts.

*

Then they win, breathless and surprising, at the end of game 6, with 17 seconds left to go, when Patrick had already started getting himself ready to go back to Chicago and fight it out there.

There’s a moment when the Cup just belongs to them, and it’s beautiful, Jonny grabs him by the shirt and pulls him in, and says hard and hoarse in his ear, “You, we, we all, we _did_ this. Us.” It’s not real coherent, but Patrick knows what he means. Part of him wants to get Jonny alone and so they can celebrate together, but mostly he wants to spread his arms and embrace his whole team, all of Chicago, hell the whole world, even—especially—the teams that made them work for it, Tuukka Rask, maybe the best goalie in the whole league and maybe some kind of wizard, and they still won.

It’s everyone’s win, and for the next few days Patrick forms the center of a whirlwind of drunkenness and celebration, with his mom occasionally reminding him to keep it together. He doesn’t feel like he’s walking a tightrope this time, it’s more like he’s up on a big wide stage, the biggest and best in the world, and it’s easy not to fall, and easier still to ride the joy of being up here.

Jonny’s everywhere, but never quite close enough. He gets his arm around Patrick’s neck sometimes, fierce one-armed hugs, but then there’s always someone new to talk to, friends from home, girls all around, all the guys crowding around and bouncing up and down together, and soaking each other with champagne. There so much good feeling that he just enjoys it and doesn’t really seek Jonny out, until it’s time for goodbyes. Jonny’s off to Winnipeg and Patrick to Buffalo, and they won’t see each other until the convention.

*

He parties with his Buffalo friends, and chills out with his sisters. He gets up in the middle of the night to make Mac and Cheese and eat it in front of terrible late night movies, then wakes up on the couch after the cheese congeals, with his mom standing over him like he’s a kid again.

Although she’s always coming to see him in Chicago, which is great, the best is when he gets to have a long chat with her one morning before anyone else is up. They drink coffee together and watch the neighborhood wake up.

They talk over Patrick’s year and summer plans. She’s been a hockey mom for so long she knows all about what kind of training he’s gonna be asked to do, his summer meal plan, and he only needs to catch her up on some minor tweaks.

“Jonny looked like he had a rough post-season,” she says, after refreshing her and Patrick’s mugs.

“Yeah,” says Patrick. There’s nothing else to say. He could’ve, maybe, have helped cheer Jonny up more, and make him chill out more, but it was such a losing battle.

“Is he being good to you, sweetie?” she asks.

“Oh my God, mom,” says Patrick. His mom knows about the two of them, as much as a mom should probably know. So do his sisters, and a bunch of the guys on the team, but trades keep that pool small, plus Jonny strongly prefers to keep it quiet. Once it stopped being Sharpy’s favorite way to make his captain blush, it didn’t really come up anymore.

“Well.” She pats his arm. “That’s his job, too.”

 _It’s not_ , Patrick wants to say, but he knows his mom won’t agree with that, and he’s getting slightly better at not saying everything that pops into his head. Jonny is good to him, from what Patrick can tell, at least within the boundaries they’ve decided, it’s just that it takes a lot less to make Patrick happy.

“Make sure you have some fun this summer, okay?” she tells him, as Patrick’s sisters start to come downstairs to breakfast.

“That’s not a problem I have,” Patrick cracks.

“I know, honey. But there’s such a thing as a happy medium.” She takes his coffee cup from him and puts it in the dishwasher then starts getting out dishes for breakfast. Patrick half-heartedly offers to help, and she waves him off.

*

Patrick loves being home, and it takes a whole four days before he starts missing Jonny. He texts a few times, just updates on his family, and recommendations for movies like _Mansquito_ , and the brand new, amazing _Sharknado_. _Tara Reids a undrratd actress_ , he texts Jonny, just to piss him off.

 _She’s super trashy_ , Jonny texts back, immediately. Patrick grins. The best way to get Jonny’s attention is to piss him off. No wonder he and Patrick are together. That line of thought doesn’t lead to good places, though. Patrick can barely think of last summer, and how pissed Jonny was at him, without wanting to freak out all over again.

When BHTV puts the video of Jonny’s day with the cup online, Patrick shamelessly watches it alone before Erica can find it and make him watch it so they can both make fun of Jonny’s stilted delivery. He’s no better this year, all Canadian and boring, taking the cup around Winnipeg, posing with kids, and giving awkward speeches. His face veers between _srs bzns_ and a sort of surprised happiness. Patrick misses him so much his chest aches.

 _U still need more media trng_ , Patrick texts. _Sad, man._

 _Bite me_ , Jonny texts back, after thirty minutes or so. Patrick fist-pumps. Jonny probably spent that half hour trying to come up with some better chirp, and that was all he had.

Still, they’re only texting a couple times a day, and it’s like Patrick can feel Jonny putting distance between them, even from a thousand miles away. Jonny’s always said that it’s good for them to get some time apart during the summer, and it seems to be good for him. He comes back tan and fit and happy from summers. Patrick’s track record is not as good.

*

The convention is a whirlwind of attention and interviews and hanging out with the guys again, and of course it’s awesome, even though he doesn’t get to see much of Jonny. He wants to say hi to everyone, to make sure they’re all having a good summer.

Jonny’s very carefully trying to project the best version of his public persona, so much that Patrick only gets one night alone with him, before they both have to go home again. It was great—the sex was great, Jonny kissing him the whole time, like he couldn’t stand not to be—but it was over too soon, and it just makes the Jonny-shaped hole in his summer seem that much harder to fill.

Patrick had decided, basically, to forget training and nutrition until after the convention, so once he gets home, he throws himself into it. He’s allowed to do a bit of skating, to keep his puck-handling skills as sharp as possible, and of course he works on explosiveness and bulking up his torso, as always, to make it easier to withstand the few hits he takes.

The first few weeks are hard. He thinks about Jonny, who started texting Patrick about beginning his training weeks ago. When he gets out of his first gym session, his strength is way down from where he knows it will be at the beginning of the season, as long as he keeps up with his training.

 _Still got 375 squat_ , he texts Jonny, knowing Jonny’s going to be way ahead of him there. Well, Jonny has 30 or 40 pounds on him too.

 _Good_ , Jonny texts back, without even rubbing in how much more he’s lifting.

Patrick wants to pick up the phone, wants to Skype and say “I miss you” but he’s gotten through a summer without Jonny before, and at least this time hockey is going to happen on schedule. Jonny’s very clear that it’s better for them if they get a break from each other, and Patrick doesn’t know how to argue in the face of Jonny’s absolute certainty. Patrick knows he gets on people’s nerves sometimes, so Jonny’s probably right.

Plus he has a track record to maintain, from when they were rookies. He’s not going to Winterpeg, not until Jonny comes to visit him. It’s a stubborn-off that still doesn’t have a winner, though Patrick’s starting to feel like the loser.

He gets into a regular schedule of working out, and texting with Jonny, but decides he’s not going to call if Jonny doesn’t. Still, as the summer goes on, he becomes aware that Jonny’s not having the best summer either. Patrick has to read between the lines and cadge information shamelessly from Sharpy, but it seems like he’s got some leftover concussion symptoms, probably from that hit from Boychuck, minor headaches and dizziness, worse when he pushes himself too hard.

Patrick finally breaks and calls one evening before a rest day, when he’s let himself had a beer or three. They shoot the shit for a little while and Jonny grills Patrick on his training plan, his eating, his sleeping schedule, even his social schedule, until he says, “Good,” in that satisfied, smug way that makes Patrick half proud and half want to punch Jonny in the face. A friendly punch. But still, Jonny doesn’t need to imply that he is entirely responsible for Patrick’s adherence to his training program. Patrick’s a professional too.

He says as much to Jonny, and Jonny says, “I know,” so sincerely that Patrick can’t really be mad.

“So, how have you been doing?” Patrick asks eventually.

And it makes Patrick feel a little better, except not, when Jonny actually tells him. “Plus my back is really stiff from deadlifts. I didn’t injure it,” he says hastily, “it’s just really stiff, and it’s hard to sleep which makes the headaches worse.”

Then Jonny goes quiet, and Patrick can tell from here that Jonny didn’t mean to reveal any of that, and it’s a measure of how badly he’s doing that he let Patrick know he’s hurting.

And Patrick’s silent too, so Jonny mumbles, “I gotta go.” Doing his typical, stupid, avoidance thing.

“Hey, wait, don’t,” says Patrick, but Jonny’s already hung up.

Patrick calls him back, and then starts sending texts every five minutes, which Jonny ignores. Patrick considers calling other people on the team, to find out what they know about what the heck is going on with Jonny, but Jonny clearly doesn't want anyone to know about this, not even Patrick. But he told him, and now Jonny can't shut him out.

Except he totally is. Patrick frowns at his phone until his mom asks him what's going on, and Patrick has to tell her, at least about Jonny maybe, possibly, being more beaten down by the season than he'd like to admit.

“I always wondered why you and Jonny never visit with each other during the summer,” his mom says, pulling Patrick into a one armed hug, while she carries the container of milk she’s putting away from the grocery store in the other. Patrick goes to help her, mostly so he has a prayer of not giving away everything in his face while he talks about it.

“We see enough of each other during the season, don’t you think?” Damn, he hadn’t meant to make it a question.

“I think Jonny would like to see you,” she says, pressing her lips together.

Patrick smirks. “Did Andree say that?”

“She might have,” his mother admits.

Well. That sort of makes Patrick feel like he’s back in elementary school and his mom is arranging playdates for him. Whatever, his mom is the best, Jonny is the worst, and he deserves to have Patrick descend on him and make him deal with his shit. Either that or Patrick should butt out, give Jonny his space, and not make things worse, which was his original plan until his mom said something.

He realizes it's been almost an hour since he sent Jonny a text, and he sends another one. _I'm coming to Winterpeg, loser._

Jonny texts him back after that. _Knew you couldn’t stay away_.

Patrick's jaw sort of drops at that. It's only a few seconds later that Jonny texts again. _I mean, because Winnipeg is awesome._

 _Sure you did._ Patrick replies, grinning. Whatever. Jonny needs him, so it totally doesn’t count as him winning the Winnipeg versus Buffalo battle.

*

Jonny picks him up at the airport. His hug is a little more cursory here than it was in Chicago, which Patrick tries not to read anything into, because shit, he is actually turning into Jonny with all this overthinking, except he hasn’t had 25 years of practice at channeling crazy into hockey amazingness.

Patrick keeps up a steady stream of chirps about Winnipeg, just whatever he sees. There are more hills and trees than he was led to expect for a place that is basically the prairie. Jonny’s jaw clenches at that because _it’s not the prairie, damn it_ , but he manages not to say anything.

“Whatever, Winnipeg is awesome,” he finally replies, when Patrick says one thing too many. He's wearing sunglasses—duh, because it's sunny—but Patrick wonders if it's because of the headaches. He's already been through Jonny being a moron about his injuries once, and he isn’t looking forward to doing it again. Sucks when Patrick has to be the responsible one.

Luckily, Jonny’s does his whole creepy mind-reading thing, and as soon as they're in Jonny’s house—nice, not overblown, more homey than the pictures made it out to be, though with a ridiculous number of TVs of which Patrick totally approves—Jonny says, "It's not a concussion."

“It’s not a tumor.” Patrick does his best Ahnuld imitation in return. He gets the eye-roll he was expecting. “So this is the place?” he says, dropping the subject for now. Jonny gives him a cursory tour, and though he’d probably do a better job if Patrick gave him a little shit about his poor hosting skills, Patrick doesn’t. Instead Jonny points things out, and Patrick nods or says, “uh-huh” and feels more and more like he doesn’t belong there.

Jonny looks tired now that he’s taken off his sunglasses, the skin under his eyes grayish as if it’s still the end of the post-season, not a month into summer. Patrick wants to do something lame like trying to kiss it better, but he doesn’t—this is weird ground for them, since they’ve never seen each other over the summer.

“Uh, thanks for coming,” says Jonny, in his dutiful, robotic voice, when they end up back in the living room. At least there’s a great big TV and an X-box, and outside is sunny, even if it’s kind of chilly for July.

“Well, your mom told my mom that you were pining away for me, so here I am,” says Patrick, flinging himself down on the couch.

Jonny makes a face but doesn’t argue, because yeah, that's basically how it was. He offers, still dutiful and polite, to get Patrick something to drink, and Patrick agrees to have Jonny bring him a beer, because it’s still afternoon, and today is a rest day, and God, when did he start to think so much like Jonny all the time? He explains all that to Jonny and earns a smirk for it.

Jonny gets himself one too, and they sit on the couch, drinking and not touching. The beer is something with a lot more flavor than he’s used to—some local microbrew, another thing about Jonny that is different when he’s here. They haven’t touched since Jonny hugged him at the airport, and Patrick starts to get uneasy about the whole visiting thing. What if Jonny was being weird to his mom because he actually didn’t want to see him? If he did, wouldn’t he have called himself? And this is Jonny's reaction, retreating into polite Canadianity.

"Okay, so really, what's with you?" Patrick asks.

“I'm fine,” says Jonny. “It’s just—I knew this could happen when I went back in in game 6, and it was totally worth it. So. Now I'm dealing with it.”

“Dealing with it like telling me about it and then freaking out so I have to come visit you, dealing with it?”

“You’re really fucking annoying,” says Jonny, in a dead voice. He’s kidding. Probably.

“Yep,” Patrick agrees. “So I’m here to cheer your sorry ass up, and I can think of a few ways to do it.” He waggles his eyebrows sleazily at Jonny, who’s usually weak for that. And Jonny rolls his eyes, grins around the neck of his beer, and turns red, which is basically the reaction Patrick was going for.

Jonny sets down his beer very carefully on the coffee table, on top of a coaster. He takes Patrick’s hand gently for a moment, then grabs more tightly, and hauls Patrick up to standing. He kisses Patrick like he’s trying to hold something back then half pulls, half shoves Patrick up his bedroom. The shades are drawn tightly, clipped shut with binder clips to keep the light out.

The beer plus sex—excellent, if speedy, blowjobs—plus nap (awesome idea, obvs) throws off Kaner’s sleep schedule so he wakes weirdly early, next to Jonny. He spends a couple minutes watching him in the dim light coming in around the curtains. It doesn’t look like he’s relaxed, even though he’s still asleep. Jonny usually sleeps super deep, his mouth open, drooling on a pillow, the whole nine yards. Now he’s shifting a lot, frowning, so Patrick gets up very quietly to go downstairs and make himself some coffee.

It’s stupidly bright in the rest of the house, because Winnipeg is even further north than Buffalo, and it's the middle of the summer—thank you Earth Science. Patrick figures out Jonny’s coffee situation—it's the same thing he has set-up in his condo in Chicago—and drinks it while surfing Facebook. It’s an hour later in Buffalo but it's still way too early for anyone to be awake.

After ninety minutes or so, he gets frustrated and thinks about waking Jonny up, maybe by throwing the curtains open and bouncing on the bed, but the he remembers why he’s here. Jonny is Not Okay. And he Won’t Talk About It. Bad combination. Good thing the moms put them together.

At 9am, Jonny finally does drag himself out of bed. He grunts something at Patrick as he pours himself coffee, and winces. Patrick closes some of the blinds. It really is sunny. Maybe he’ll get some good tanning time in today on Jonny's deck.

Jonny finishes the whole cup of coffee before he says anything. “Gonna do back and abs today, and maybe some sprints. What do you think?”

“That's cool.” They usually get similar assignments for the summer: put the weight back on that they lost during the season (Jonny will do that better) build speed and explosiveness. Don’t do too much cardio and burn it all off, but plenty of sprints and pylo shit. A little skating is okay. No contact.

They do all that, and nap in the sun, though Jonny makes Patrick wear sunscreen. They have dinner that night over at Jonny's parents, which is cool. They talk about nothing.

“But seriously,” says Patrick when they go back to Jonny's place. “What's going on with you? Remember, I'm here because your mother thought you needed me or something. And you sounded like shit on the phone. Talk.”

Jonny rolls his eyes. “How about instead I kick your ass at Mario Kart.”

Patrick grins at Jonny. He is on a mission and he will not be distracted. “Talk, and maybe I’ll do something you really, really like later.”

Jonny gives Patrick a helpless look, flushes, and looks away. And yeah, Patrick is pretty shameless—there’s only one thing Jonny loves so much that it works as a bribe for pretty much anything. Jonny’s crazy for it when Patrick licks him open, like loves it in a way where he loses his mind and will basically do anything for it, and will be mad at himself later that he’s so easy for it, and Patrick isn’t above using that information for evil. Or good in this case. Evil for good.

“I...,” Jonny begins, like he's actually going to protest this awesome plan. “You...,” he tries again.

“I know,” says Patrick magnanimously. “Tell me.”

Jonny slumps down on the couch. They had beers over at the Toews’s, so now he’s only cradling a bottle of water between his hands, in a glass, of course, because plastic has BPAs or something, but he looks down at it like it might contain all the secrets of the universe.

“I just—I’m not super proud of how the playoffs went down.”

Patrick stares at him. “We won the Cup, man. You were great. Everyone was great.”

“ _You_ were great,” says Jonny. “I was...okay. I survived.” He looks down at his water glass again. “I took a lot of hits, and maybe I shouldn’t have gone out in the sixth game, and now I’m paying for it.” He glares at Patrick like Patrick's about to start arguing with him. “I know, we won, and it was awesome, okay, I’m not arguing that. I’d make the same decision again. Just. All those guys, Zetterberg, Chara—”

“Fucking Zs,” Patrick agrees.

The corner of Jonny's mouth lifts. “Yeah, fucking Zs. They got to me. I shouldn’t have let them, but they did. And now...”

He doesn’t have to finish for Patrick to know what he means. Jonny always thinks he can control every fucking thing that happens, on ice and off. Especially himself.

“What do the doctors say?” Patrick asks. The inches between them on the couch seem like miles. If Jonny was a girl, Patrick would…he’s not sure, maybe hug him and stroke his hair? Hell, if Jonny would just get upset or something, Patrick would do the same thing. He knows Jonny, after six years, knows how he tenses up and won’t accept any comfort, won’t believe any praise until he can somehow prove it to himself. It sucks.

“It’s post-concussion symptoms,” says Jonny. “Mild. But.”

“Well, I’m here,” says Patrick, feeling like it’s a stupid thing to say.

Jonny reaches out and puts his hand over Patrick’s, squeezing his fingers. “I know. Thanks.” He waits for a moment, and then adds, “So.”

Patrick cackles at him. “You are so _easy_ , dude. I love it.” But. “What happened with the deadlifts?”

“Oh, just some bullshit. I pushed too hard, then my back was stiff and I couldn't sleep without like, five fucking pillows in a nest around me, and every time I moved it hurt again.”

“What did the trainers say?”

Jonny rolls his eyes. "They said ‘Don't do that,’ what do you think? A week before I deadlift again. Tomorrow, maybe some cleans, maybe some box jumps, no more maxes for a little while. Okay? Now can we fuck?”

"Yeah,” says Patrick, and follows Jonny up to his room.

It never gets old, how Jonny just falls apart when Patrick licks into him. Patrick likes it too, the few times that Jonny did it, but he’d usually rather have a blowjob. It’s better to do it to Jonny and watch him gets red, and stupid, and listen to him beg for things, for Patrick. _That_ is so hot that it makes Patrick flush whenever he thinks about it later. This seems like a night for a nice slow fuck when Jonny's all loose and open and so he does, drawing it out until Jonny’s begging for more, and Patrick can’t stop himself anymore.

Jonny glares at Patrick the next morning, because he always does after what Jonny still mostly refers to as _that_ , because he’s hilariously uptight. Like it's Patrick's fault he’s such a sex god. Whatever.

*

They go back to Jonny’s local gym the next day, where Jonny says that guys from the local hockey club work out. It’s a pretty good gym, with an Olympic platform, plenty of squat racks, some pull-up bars, and no one gives them crap for dropping weights.

“Hey, how much can you clean these days?” Jonny asks, with a wicked gleam in his eye. They’ve attracted a little bit of an audience, which Patrick rarely minds. And Jonny must be feeling okay, because he doesn’t seem to mind either.

“I don't know. I did a bunch of reps at 210 pounds last time, a couple weeks ago. Probably more now. What about you?"

Jonny smirks. Patrick rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Put 75kg on the bar,” he orders Patrick. Patrick complies, because competitive Jonny _is_ Jonny, more than moping, sorry for winning a _fucking Stanley Cup_ Jonny.

“Five, touch and go,” says Jonny. And he does them, fast power cleans—practically muscle cleans—from the floor to his shoulders. It’s totally hot how superior he looks while he’s doing it, and he isn’t even breathing hard by the end. Patrick’s going to regret getting into this, but he can’t back down from it. Cleans are as much about technique as strength, and Patrick’s technique is better. He does the same.

“Go up by 5 kg?” Jonny asks.

“Make it 10,” says Patrick. “Don’t want to be here all day.”

*

“Ow.” Jonny strips off on his way to the bathroom in his house, leaving clothes behind him like a snail leaves slime.

“What the fuck?” Patrick asks. “That got out of hand.”

“I was _winning_ ,” says Jonny viciously.

“You cleaned the bar into your chin,” Patrick reminds him.

“Because it was too light.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, even though Jonny can’t see him. “You’re supposed to control the bar.”

“We didn’t have to stop.”

“You were bleeding. That’s a rule in hockey. And your gym too, looks like.”

“I would have won,” says Jonny.

“I think the guy who’s not bleeding wins,” Patrick calls after him. He follows along after Jonny, because this is hilarious.

Jonny hisses theatrically when he gets into the shower. At least he doesn’t need stitches or anything. Jonny’s going to have bruises on his shins and collarbones from where he pulled the bar too hard, and came up to meet it too fast.

“It’s like ballet,” says Patrick, still rubbing it in. “Not wrestling.”

“No wonder you're so good at it,” says Jonny. “All those sisters.”

“Shut the fuck up, my sisters are awesome,” says Patrick, without rancor. “They could kick your ass at a clean ladder too.” He looks at Jonny’s chin, which has a ridiculous Snoopy Band-Aid on it from the gym. “Not as much as you kick your own ass, though.”

*

That night, though, Patrick remembers to be worried about Jonny’s weird lack of coordination at the gym.

"Are you okay?" he asks about twenty times, until Jonny looks like he's about to take Patrick’s head off. The bruise on his chin has spread to a nice brownish purple and looks like he forgot to wash his face or something. The Band-Aid stayed on all of two hours, because Jonny hates to look silly even more than he likes taking care of his health.

“I’m fucking fine,” Jonny snaps. “I just need a break.”

“From what?” Patrick asks. “It’s the summer.” Oh. And he’s not supposed to be there.

“From…” Jonny waves his hands. “From this.”

That’s the ground, dissolving away underneath Patrick. “A break from me?” he asks slowly.

“Just for tonight,” says Jonny. He scrapes his hand through his hair. It’s still cut very close, like it’s the middle of the season.

“Oh,” says Patrick.

“I was gonna go out with some of the guys and…you could come along…” Now he’s not looking at Patrick.

Patrick knows he should stop him or something. Make them talk it out. His mom is big on that. You have to talk about things. Patrick really wishes Jonny’s mom would give him that memo sometimes. But he feels like Jonny punched him in the stomach, and he’s starting to understand the way Jonny likes to avoid things. He wants to recover from this before he asks what it really means, how Jonny can just put up these walls between them during the summer.

So Patrick just drops his head instead. “Well, yeah. I mean. I’ll just watch TV or something. Call my sisters.”

“Yeah,” says Jonny, sounding relieved, and he’s gone before Patrick can work up the balls to yell at him or something, tell him he’s being a jerk. But that might make things worse, and Jonny is obviously (mostly) is being a jerk because he’s upset about himself, about not recovering exactly the way he wants, about the world not fucking conforming to his idea of how it should be. Or that’s what Patrick’s clinging to.

Okay, maybe Patrick should yell at him. He watches shitty hunting channels on TV for a while, still pissed off and hurt that Jonny would be rude enough to go out without him—maybe he thinks that halfhearted offer was enough to make it okay. Maybe Patrick should go find him or something. Call him up and say he changed his mind.

Then the landline rings. Patrick answers it, hoping Jonny’s calling to invite him out. It’s Andree, though, with her lovely accent, and a delivery that reminds him just a little bit of Jonny’s.

“How is he?” Andree asks, like Patrick’s Jonny’s keeper or something. Which is why he came here, but he’s starting to get freaked out about the fact that everyone—except Jonny—expects Patrick to fix him somehow. Yeah, he’s better at knowing what's going on with Jonny than most people, but that doesn’t mean he can figure the guy out. Jonny's weirder than any ten people Patrick knows. He only does things he doesn’t want to when he’s goaded into it by guilt or competition. Or promises of sexual favors.

Patrick realizes he's been zoning out when Andree asks, “That bad, huh?”

“He’s fine,” says Patrick quickly. Bros before...moms, or something like that. Definitely before moms who aren’t his.

“Mmmmm,” says Andree, sounding skeptical. “Is he home?”

Patrick’s pretty sure she knows he’s not. Still. “He’s in the shower right now,” he says. “Should I have him call you?”

“You’re a good boy, Patrick,” she says, and he likes hearing it. When they hang up, he calls his mom and sisters, because talking to Andree made him miss them, and fuck Jonny for walking out. Patrick’s here for him. He should appreciate it.

Jonny comes in late, and drunk. Patrick’s asleep, sprawled over Jonny’s bed when Jonny flops half on top of them, and wiggles his hips against Patrick to push him aside. He’s left the light on in the hall, pretty un-Jonny-like. His cheeks are drunk-pink.

“Wow, this is so much role reversal I don’t even know what to do with you,” says Patrick. He really wishes he were drunk right now too, because then they’d be drunk together and Jonny would be happy-drunk. Or rolling-his-eyes-and-dealing-with-Patrick drunk, which is almost as good. Maybe he should cause some kind of scene, get into trouble and make Jonny rescue him. He’s never actually done it for that reason before, at least not consciously, but Jonny’s being a pain in the ass, and Patrick's starting to chafe under the responsibility.

“Are you sure you're supposed to be drinking?” Patrick asks. He’s angry enough that he feels alert, not like Jonny just woke him up from a sound sleep.

“I told you I was _fine_ ,” says Jonny. He speaks very carefully, as though he wants to hide that he’s drunk, but duh, Patrick can smell him.

“Good, then you can stop being such an asshole,” says Patrick. He’s feeling angry enough that he won’t be able to get back to sleep unless he says something. Even if Jonny’s too drunk and tired to deal with it. “Don’t fucking ditch me again, when I’m your fucking guest.” He can tell by the change in the atmosphere that hit a nerve. Guilt. Step one.

“Sorry,” says Jonny. He sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that could be about to turn into a snore. Patrick digs an elbow into his side.

“So seriously, what happened today?” Patrick asks. Gotta press the advantage.

“I cleaned the fucking bar into my chin,” says Jonny. He sounds offended, but Patrick thinks he’s offended at the bar, at his own fuck-up. Not at Patrick. His anger fades. “Like you’ve never done that,” Jonny says. He turns and nuzzles up against Patrick’s neck. 

Patrick has, a bunch of times, although never hard enough to draw blood. Leave it to Jonny to take it to the next level.

"You gonna let me kiss it and make it better?" says Patrick, and since Jonny doesn't immediately throw him out of bed, he does, gently, over the outlines of the bruise, then down his throat, finding the bruises on his collarbones as well. Jonny’s breath hitches and he digs his fingers into Patrick's arm.

“Does that hurt?” Patrick asks in a whisper.

Jonny waits a moment. “Yes,” he breathes.

“Do you like it anyway?” Patrick asks.

Jonny waits a longer moment, while Patrick sucks a bruise on his chest into a deeper purple. “Yes,”he says. He sounds incredibly tense. “I like it.”

“You don’t have to hit yourself in the chin with a bar if you like this,” says Patrick. He runs his hands over Jonny’s sides. “Too bad you don't have any good hockey bruises right now.”

Jonny's ticklish there, although he won't admit it. “Not supposed to play contact for a while,” he whines, as though he misses those bruises, the bone deep ones that take months to heal, the ones that are so painful that even the lightest touch of fingers over them delivers a spike of pain. Patrick’s gotten plenty of those himself, although not as many as Jonny. He's not enough of a target.

“Fuck, I’m not...I want to, but,” says Jonny as Patrick runs his hand over Jonny’ dick. It's about at half mast. Patrick wants to make fun of his whiskey-dick, but maybe now’s not the time.

“Wow, you really did drink a lot. Wish I hadn’t missed it,” he says lightly.

Jonny looks at him, determined and guilty. “Let me go down on you instead.”

“Twist my arm,” says Patrick. He flops over on his back, shimmies out of shorts andspreads his legs. “You sure your face is up for it?”

“ _Your_ face isn't up for it,” Jonny answers. Drinking doesn’t improve his comebacks any. “You want it or not?”

“Yeah, I want it.” For a drunken blowjob it’s a pretty good one, sloppy and enthusiastic, with everything Patrick likes. Jonny breaks off halfway through to mouth at his balls, making those little noises in his throat like he’s really enjoying it. He kisses Patrick afterward, hard, before tapering off into dreamy, pre-sleep kisses. It’s only afterward that he realizes Jonny still pushed Patrick away from his bruises and whatever weird line he walks with them, halfway between pleasure and pain, something he doesn’t want to share.

*

Patrick only stays a few more days. Jonny’s _fine_ , he keeps on telling Patrick. He doesn’t actually abandon Patrick again, but it seems clear that Patrick’s a weird intrusion into his plans for the summer. So after a week, Patrick buys a ticket home, and says his goodbyes.

He doesn't really get upset about any of it until he's on the plane. Because of some weird routing, the trip takes longer than Patrick wants it to, and he ends up drinking in the business-class lounge in Laguardia, on one of his awesome layovers, feeling sorry for himself because Jonny didn't try too hard to get him to stay, or offer to come see him in Buffalo. Would he want Jonny there? Does he miss Jonny more than Jonny misses him, or his he grateful to get away, ready to start missing Jonny enough that he can’t wait for the season to start? 

They were always supposed to be—friends, fuck-buddies, exclusive even, during the season—with a break over the summer. And they’re both going to be Blackhawks forever, at least that's what it feels like now, although Patrick remembers how he felt only a year earlier. He’s matured a lot, and fuck it, he won the Conn Smythe, even though Crow probably deserved it, that’s got to be a good signal to the organization.

But it’s hockey, anything can happen. Trades, slumps, career-ending injuries. And now he's flying back to Buffalo and he really wants to know where he and Jonny stand. This is the longest relationship he’s ever had. He wants to know if they could make it as a real couple, if Jonny even wants that, or whether they’re supposed to be biding their time, waiting to grow up and have wives and kids. Maybe get summer homes near each other, like Duncs and Seabs. It’s not a terrible thought, except the wrench of imagining that Jonny could watch Patrick be with someone else and not stop him. That Jonny could meet someone and he might actually tell her—or him—what was going on in that crazy head of his, and not push them away.

He’s in a pretty sad state by the time he lands in Buffalo. Erica's there to pick him up for some complicated logistical reason that he can't remember now, and she looks sad when she sees him. Patrick attempts a tired smile.

“Did Jonny wear you out?” she asks. Patrick musters up enough energy to favor her with a dirty leer. “Not like that, ew.”

“Yeah. He. He’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Say ‘fine’ some more, Patrick. I totally believe you.”

Patrick puts his arm around her, and lets her lead them into the parking lot.

*

At least the Olympic camp in August takes up some of the long, Jonny-less summer. There’s some ridiculous noise about making Patrick captain, and he has to answer a lot of questions about that, with no fucking clue what to say. He can’t even call Jonny about it because that would be some kind of USA betrayal or something—he still remembers their hilariously silent ride together at the last Olympics four year ago, when Jonny was maybe trying to work up the nerve to say something about how they both wanted to touch each other’s dicks, but then he didn’t, and channeled all that frustration into winning for Canada. Or at least that’s what Patrick surmised when he teased Jonny about later.

But now, maybe it’s not a good sign for them that they leave each other in the summers and Jonny enforces that distance, especially given what it was like when Patrick visited, which was half awesome and half Jonny just, like suffering through his presence. Of course Jonny liked the sex. He’s always liked the sex. That’s always been weirdly amazing with the two of them, but Patrick’s read a lot of his sisters’ Cosmos, and had some embarrassing, long, drunk conversations with Erica where she’s told him some things about guys in college that he really didn’t want to know about, but which boiled down to the idea that good sex does not equal a good relationship.

Being best friends probably does equal a good relationship to some degree—but it's still not, like, a real relationship. He doesn't even know what a real relationship is like to be in so he can compare it to that. Well, his parents are pretty great, and so are the Sharps, and whenever he compares what he and Jonny have to that, he suspects Jonny shouldn’t spend so much time pretending he doesn’t feel anything, and hiding things he's feeling, and whatever from Patrick. _He_ doesn't hide what he's feeling, when he can figure it out anyway, but he doesn’t hide it from _anyone_.

And this summer, with Jonny blaming himself about not performing up to his ridiculously high standards during the playoffs, and like, wanting to punish himself for the sin of having emotions and a head that's not made of solid granite—well, sometimes it’s really hard to tell the difference between normal Jonny bullshit, and bullshit between the two of them.

When the camp starts, Patrick tries to play it cool. He doesn’t show up on Jonny’s doorstep the night they both get in, instead sees him at the first team meeting the next day.

The whole team goes out that night, just for a couple beers, since they don’t have practice until the following afternoon. Patrick’s staring at the truffle fries with blue cheese. They were good but now they’ve gone all soggy, and he really craves giant steak fries from Rose’s diner in Buffalo, right this minute.

“Hey little man,” says Sharpy, nudging Patrick’s shoulder. “Isn’t brooding more Toes’s thing?"

“I can brood too,” says Patrick. “I’d be great at brooding. Jonny taught me how.”

Sharpy raises an eyebrow. “You know you can talk to me,” he says. “Unless it's some kinky sex stuff because I really don't want to know."

“’You take the good, you take the bad, and there you have the facts of life,’” Patrick sing-songs at him.

“You are way too young to sing that theme song at me,” says Sharpy.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “You want the dirt, you gotta hear all of it.”

“Yeah, I got that,” says Sharpy.

“Thanks, seriously,” says Patrick. “But I think we have to work this one out on our own.”

“They grow up so fast.” Sharpy mimes wiping a tear away from his eye.

“Yeah, just wait until Madelyn starts dating,” says Patrick darkly.

“Hey, don’t you even joke about that,” Sharpy answers.

Patrick gets up to grab another beer and practically bumps into Jonny, who’s coming back to the table from some whispered meeting with Seabs. Jonny whirls on him, giving him a vicious look that takes a long moment to settle down to something less murderous.

“Whoa,” says Patrick. “What’s with you?”

“What’s with me? What’s with you?” Jonny whispers. “You’re acting—you’re acting like you barely know me.”

“I thought you enjoyed your ‘summer of space’,” Patrick whispers back. “Just easing back into it.”

“Is that how you want it?” Jonny asks. He stiffens.

“No,” says Patrick, shaking his head, confused. He puts his hand on Jonny’s shoulder, and can feel him vibrating. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

Jonny presses his lips together. “Can’t. Team bonding. Come home with me after.”

It feels like marching orders, which Patrick doesn’t resent too much. He’s good at obeying his captain. He makes sure all the guys had a good summer, lets Shawsy enthuse about bringing the Cup home for a while, until everyone has to tell their cup stories, and no one wants to hear about Patrick’s day this year—which was kind of a repeat from the previous time, minus some of the embarrassment. They all want a recap of when he got stuck in the cherry-picker.

He’s yawning hugely when he and Jonny finally get into a cab together and Jonny tangles their fingers together. Jonny gives him a look that seems weirdly relieved.

Once inside the apartment, Jonny presses Patrick up against the wall and starts kissing him desperately, pushing his thigh between Patrick’s legs, which he knows Patrick loves, and God, did Jonny’s quads get even bigger since Patrick saw him last—he’s going to have to do some serious exploration. If Jonny lets him. Jonny seems intent on getting him off before they even get past the hallway. Patrick’s totally okay with that. 

Jonny gets the first button of Patrick’s khaki shorts undone, and then they’re baggy enough to slide off his hips. He gets his hand around Patrick’s dick and jerks him off while sucking on his neck, and he looks pleased and flushed when Patrick comes. He wipes his hand off on Patrick’s shorts, where they’re hanging on his thighs. He debates pulling them up—gross—or taking them off and saying what he needs to with his dick hanging out.

“Are we going to talk?” Patrick asks. He opts for dick out. “I could suck you off, but—we need to talk.” He winces. “Yeah, that was kind of a mood killer.”

“What ?” Jonny asks. Now he’s flushed and angry. God, he looks good tonight, tanned and huge from the summer, like after Patrick left he actually got the summer he wanted. “Are you—are you breaking up with me?”

“Wait, what? God, no,” says Patrick. He realizes he’s still half out of his pants and tugs them up, buttons them again. “I just thought after this summer—you know. With me not around. That you wanted.” He swallows. “That _you_ wanted to break up with _me_."

“No,” Jonny half-shouts. He’s kind of looming over Patrick, too close for Patrick to see his face clearly. Patrick reaches out a hand to him and pulls him into the kitchen, where they can both get water, find things to look at other than each other.

“No,” says Jonny again, more quietly, as Patrick pulls him along. “It was just—it was summer, and I was—well, you saw how I was.”

"I saw something,” says Patrick. He holds his glass of water in both hands, rotating the glass, but he can’t drink it with his throat closing up like this.

“It was just our usual summer break, you know?” says Jonny, looking at Patrick with his eyes pleading. For what, Patrick’s not sure.

“You’re the one who decided that,” says Patrick. He’s getting stupidly teary now, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to it by wiping his eyes. “You’re the one who thought we should just—and I should be happy to see you when you let me.” Jonny doesn’t answer. He’s not making eye contact with Patrick. “And you don’t tell me anything. I don’t know what’s going on with you half the time.” He trails off. He’s been saying this forever it feels like. There’s nothing new to say.

“So you are breaking up with me,” says Jonny flatly.

“No,” says Patrick, tiredly. “I love you.” They don’t say it often, and usually not in this context, but they have said it. Patrick takes a deep breath and moves on. “But you gotta—I don’t know—you’re really complicated and you have to help me out sometimes.”

“I am _not_ complicated.” He looks confused and unhappy.

“Well, you’re more complicated than me,” says Patrick, giving him a small smile.

Jonny snorts, and gives him one of his patented smirks, one that’s all put-on, playful twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Like that’s hard.”

Patrick laughs, relieved. “Come here,” he says, and pulls Jonny in to kiss him. Jonny kisses him back hungrily, like he’s trying to say the things he can’t that way. So Patrick doesn’t make Jonny talk to him anymore that night. Even that little bit was way too intense. 

Patrick still wonders if he pushes it too far, if he’s willing to ask the questions he really wants to ask, without knowing whether Jonny will give him the answers he wants. He pulls Jonny into the bedroom and gives him a spectacular blowjob that leaves him sweating and glassy-eyed.

Afterward, he rests his head on Jonny’s thigh until Jonny tugs on his shoulder and he wriggles his way up to lie next to him. Jonny’s skin is damp and warm against his. “I love you too,” Jonny says softly. “I should have said that earlier.”

“I know,” says Patrick. He does. Jonny loves him, but Jonny wants things exactly in some way that he’s decided in his head, and Patrick doesn’t know if it’s worse when he tells Patrick about it or not.

*

They step carefully around each other for a while, good sloppy sex and fun times together, neither pushing too much. Then the season starts to get hard with their first game against Detroit, who want to pretend it’s the playoffs again already. It's fucking October, and too early for that shit. Jonny’s nervous going into the game, snapping at people, and even Patrick can't make his face crack into a smile.

During the first period, Zetterberg does his best to knock Jonny off balance, and while Jonny’s anger is more controlled this time around, it’s there, spilling over into everyone else, making them play sloppy and jerky. Patrick gets his stick on the puck a bunch of times, even dances it around some D-men, but there’s never anyone in place to pick his passes. Jonny yells at him about sight-lines, and Patrick tries to do what he says, but honestly, it’s not just him.

They're all frustrated at the first intermission. Q makes some noises about tightening up their play, slowing it down, working the things they do well, don’t let them get in your head—that said to the room, but the way Jonny’s shoulders tense, Patrick knows he’s taking it as if it’s entirely his fault.

In the second period Jonny takes a big hit, and then Bicks tries to go after Zetterberg, and there are penalty minutes all around, and the Red Wings score twice, once during the power play and once right afterward. Jonny sits out one of his shifts, all the while asking to go back in, promising that it’s just his side, not his head, and Zetterberg can’t get used to getting to him like that.

When Q lets Jonny back out there in the third period, he's like a machine, an angry, yelling machine, and as soon as Zetterberg gets in his face, Jonny gets a stupid penalty. Patrick avoids looking at him when he gets back to the bench. He’d like to chirp Jonny and make him stop taking Zetterberg so seriously—but when he opens his mouth, Jonny shoots him a glare that makes him close it again.

Q puts them out there together again in the last two minutes. Jonny gets the puck by sheer force of will, and passes it to Patrick just outside the crease, where Patrick can twist it in, but it's too little too late, and the Red Wings win.

Jonny's tightly angry in the locker room, taking off his gear and putting away his skates with both force that rattles the lockers. He makes a quick speech about what people did well, because there were some things to mention. He thanks Bicks for the defense, but cautions him about taking penalty minutes—pretty much par for the course—and then says they’ll get Detroit next time. A textbook captain's speech, and Patrick wonders if everyone else can tell how on edge Jonny is.

When Jonny strips off his Under Armor, a red bruise is already blooming into purple over his ribs. The reporters are gone now, and everyone’s talking in the low, but hopeful voices you hear after an early-season loss.

“Nothing’s broken is it?” Patrick asks quietly. “Take a deep breath.”

"I know how to fucking tell if my fucking rib is broken,” Jonny snaps at him. No one’s really watching them, and even if they were, everyone knows how they touch all the time. Patrick puts his hand over the bruise to steady Jonny. It’s hot where blood is rushing to heal whatever damage Zetterberg did. Patrick wants to punch Zetterberg right in his stupid tall face, but more than that he wants to hold Jonny together. Wants Jonny to let him.

"Not here,” says Jonny. He turns to Patrick, looking extra intense, even for him, and the anger transmuted into something else.

“You gonna let me kiss it and make it better?” Patrick whispers. He means to grin and lighten the mood somehow, but Jonny looks seriously intense, and it's seriously hot, and Patrick can’t do it. He licks his lips instead.

Jonny nods. They get into their suits, and Patrick follows Jonny out to his car.

__“You should fuck me,” says Jonny._ _

__It's been a while, since the summer, and Patrick's totally up for it, but if it’s some kind of Jonny being a head-case thing—well, Jonny’s gonna have to talk about it, to tell Patrick what he actually needs._ _

__As soon as they get into Jonny’s apartment, he presses drags Patrick over the couch and pulls Patrick lying down on top of him, which Patrick is totally weak for, this in-control, pushy Jonny, but that’s not what Jonny seemed to need, earlier, in the locker room. Patrick pushes Jonny’s shirt up, putting his hand right over the bruise, and Jonny’s breath hitches in what is probably pain, but he also presses his dick against Patrick’s, through their clothes, and it's rock hard._ _

__Jonny pulls off his clothes impatiently, like he’s annoyed they’re standing between him and sex. He lies down on his stomach all expectantly, and can’t even see Patrick roll his eyes._ _

__

__When they get into the bed, he makes Jonny lie on his stomach, and he licks Jonny’s hole a few times before Jonny turns around and snaps at him to get on with it. Wow, Jonny’s never turned down rimming before._ _

__“This isn’t some kind of punishing yourself thing?” Patrick asks as he works his fingers in, and sucks kisses onto Jonny’s lower back. “Because you did great tonight.” Maybe it’s not entirely fair to be asking this while they're having sex, but Patrick needs all the advantages he can get._ _

__“No,” says Jonny tightly. “It's not like that.”_ _

__“What do you want?” Patrick asks. “What do you need?”_ _

__“Fuck me,” Jonny orders him, and starts telling Patrick exactly what to do: condom on, push in, like that, harder. Patrick’s shaking, half with being so fucking turned on, and half scared that he's going to, like, fuck this up. He always likes to stop for a moment and just feel it, how he’s totally inside Jonny, and how amazing that is, how amazing they are together, that they can do this, and it feels so good._ _

__Jonny sounds frustrated. It’s stupid to do this, listening to Jonny’s voice, so much need under the stern delivery, and wondering how many other times he's going to get to fuck Jonny, because that bullshit is going to make him cry, and there's nothing sadder than crying during sex. And Jonny isn’t saying anything either, just pressing his ass back against Patrick’s hips so he’s as deep as he can get. He runs his hand up Jonny's side, over the bruise again, and then Jonny starts swearing at Patrick._ _

__“Do it, just fucking do it,” he’s saying. “Just give it to me. Make it hurt.”_ _

__Fuck, so he does want some kind of punishment? Well, if that’s what he wants, Patrick will deliver, even if it makes him feel weird. He starts fucking Jonny harder, pulling himself into him with his fingers dug into his bruise. Jonny's not talking any more. Patrick usually gets a hand on Jonny’s dick when they’re fucking, but when he goes for it, Jonny bats him away._ _

__“That's how you want it?” Patrick’s saying, letting his mouth run and hoping to God he doesn't say anything stupid. "Just like this? You want it to hurt? Like it did on the ice today? You want to feel it? You want to take it harder?”_ _

__And Jonny answers him, saying, “Yes,” to all of Patrick's questions. His voice is kind of ragged. He doesn’t sound like himself. Part of Patrick wants to stop and apologize for the way he’s fucking him as hard as he can, pulling Jonny to him by the bruise on his hip, maybe kiss Jonny all over and tell him that there’s nothing good he doesn’t deserve. But Jonny’s still pushing back against him, and saying, “Yes” and “please, Pat” and “that's it, right there”. He comes before Patrick even realized he was going to, just stopping meeting Patrick's strokes, with a choked off noise, his head dropping down against his forearm._ _

__Patrick slows down so he can feel Jonny tense and release around him, because it's basically the best feeling ever, but as soon as Jonny’s done coming, he tells Patrick to keep going. It’s phrased like a command, but Jonny’s voice is begging. He can only see the side of Jonny’s face, but he looks like he’s gone somewhere far away from Patrick, somewhere too intense to share. Jonny keeps trying to press back against Patrick even though he’s done—that and his face, red and wrecked, finally pulls Patrick over the edge and he comes super hard, with as much relief as pleasure, like he’s coming off a really hard shift on the ice._ _

__He slides out and takes care of the condom, grabs some paper towels and comes back to wrap himself around Jonny, trying to press every inch of skin together. Jonny has his back to him._ _

__"Turn around," says Patrick. He feels kind of broken, and he can’t handle Jonny hiding from him, not now._ _

__Jonny does, but he ducks his head under Patrick's and lays it against Patrick's shoulder so Patrick still can't see him. He sighs and hugs Jonny to him anyway. Jonny makes a indecipherable sound, and Patrick realizes he’s put his hand on the contusion purpling Jonny’s side._ _

__“What's with you and the bruises?” Patrick asks. “You're really weird about it. Seriously. I need you to tell me.”_ _

__“I like how they hurt,” says Jonny in that soft, quiet way that Patrick's only heard when they're alone together, not a hint of a monotone. “I thought you knew that.”_ _

__“Well, yeah,” says Patrick, except it has to be more than that. He thinks back over the things he’s said. He was mostly kidding, or he knew that Jonny liked it, but he wouldn't call this liking, he would call this Jonny pushing himself—making Patrick push him—over some kind of cliff Patrick didn’t know was there._ _

__“I like them and I hate them,” Jonny says quietly, against Patrick’s shoulder, the words indistinct. “I hate that fucking Zetterberg can—I don’t know—put this thing on me, and then I have to think about him whenever I touch it.” He pauses for long enough that Patrick wonders if he’s done talking. It’s already been a lot for him. “But it's also, like, it’s hockey. Bruises are part of hockey, and you get to like it. They’re badges of honor or something.” He lets out a little, desperate sounding laugh. “I know how crazy I sound.”_ _

__“Not too crazy,” says Patrick. “Maybe I get it.”_ _

__He can feel Jonny’s small smile against his shoulder. “Do you?”_ _

__"Not really," says Patrick. "Why do you have to be so complicated?" he asks. Oh fuck his mouth and his inability to keep it shut._ _

__“I don't know,” says Jonny._ _

__“I just—I feel like I can’t keep up.”_ _

__That just hangs there for a moment until Jonny pushes himself up off Patrick. “Is it too much?” he asks._ _

__Patrick sits up and looks down at him. “No! I thought we talked about that already.”_ _

__Jonny clenches his jaw and turns his face away from Patrick so he’s talking to the wall instead. “It seems like it. Is that what this whole—” he gestures at the two of them “—everything has been about?"_ _

__“No,” says Patrick. He scrubs and hand through his hair, frustrated. “I thought you—what if I can’t keep up, really? You don’t tell me a lot of stuff. I don't know how to give you what you want sometimes.”_ _

__“You do, though,” says Jonny firmly. He turns back toward Patrick. “You always do. I can’t imagine. I don’t want anyone else to even try.” He pulls Patrick back down and puts head against Patrick’s shoulder again. “How fucked up is that?”_ _

__“Pretty fucked up,” Patrick agrees. “I don’t know, though, you can’t just make me guess shit.”_ _

__“I don’t know how to talk about it.”_ _

__“Try,” says Patrick._ _

__“I like the bruises,” Jonny says. “I always have. Except I—Zetterberg’s a douche. And then when you touch them. It makes them—ours. The pain feels good. It makes me feel like I’ve...done something. Is that totally weird?” He sounds as vulnerable as he ever has. “It’s totally weird, isn’t it?”_ _

__“It’s a little weird,” says Patrick. He puts his arms around Jonny. “It’s a little weird, but I am totally here for all your weirdness. Seriously. You just have to tell me.” He kisses his forehead. “I don’t want you to go to someone else and…be weird with them instead.”_ _

__“If that’s the only reason…,” Jonny begins, tensing up again._ _

__“No, it was super-hot.” He makes sure Jonny’s looking at him. “Whatever gets you like—look, if you’re into—whatever, I will totally try it. Do _you_ —want someone else? Someone who gets it better?”_ _

__Jonny snorts. “I told you I didn’t,” Jonny says. “It took me five—six—years to be okay with, you know, to trust you enough to show you. This. Whatever. It would take forever with anyone else.”_ _

__“Thanks, asshole,” says Patrick. “I love you too.” Jonny gets all red and stuttery until Patrick takes pity on him. “You don’t have to trust anyone else for it. I’ll always do this for you. I’ll always do anything for you.” That is...maybe a proposal of... something, and Patrick’s got some tears in his eyelashes, maybe a little bit, but Jonny’s unwound enough that he does too._ _

__“Yeah?” says Jonny. He sighs, focusing his eyes on Patrick’s mouth instead of meeting his eyes. “That’s good. That’s good to know. And you too. I mean it, Pat. I’m bad at—but I’ll try. I don’t want anyone else. I’m sorry if I made you think I did.”_ _

__Patrick pulls him closer until they’re pressed together again, foreheads touching, legs intertwined, his arms around Jonny. Jonny finally looks at him, his eyes big and dark. “Thanks for telling me,” says Patrick. “We’re okay?”_ _

__Jonny kisses him, slow and lazy. “We’re more than okay.” They kiss for a little longer. “You know what I actually need?” Jonny asks._ _

__“What _now_?” He grins, though. Jonny’s telling him._ _

__“Some Biofreeze, man. This bruise really fucking hurts.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for poorly negotiated pain play.


End file.
